Bad Hugh

He used to kiss those chubby arms--kiss the rosy cheeks, and the soft

brown hair. But that hair had changed sadly since the days when its

owner had first lisped his name, and called him "Ugh," for the bands and

braids coiled around 'Lina's haughty head were black as midnight. Not

less changed than 'Lina's tresses was 'Lina herself, and Hugh, strong

man that he was, had often felt like crying for the little baby sister,

so lost and dead to him in her young womanhood. What had changed Ad so?

There was many a tender spot in Hugh Worthington's heart, and shadow

after shadow flitted across his face as he thought how cheerless was his

life, and how little there was in his surroundings to make him happy.

There was nothing he would not do for people if approached in the right

way, but nobody cared for him, unless it were his mother and Aunt

Eunice. They seemed to like him, and he reckoned they did, but for the

rest, who was there that ever thought of doing him a kindness? Poor

Hugh! It was a dreary picture he drew as he sat alone that night,

brooding over his troubles, and listening to the moan of the wintry

wind--the only sound he heard, except the rattling of the shutters and

the creaking of the timbers, as the old house rocked in the December

gale.

Suddenly there crept into his mind Adah's words, "I shall pray for you

to-night." He never prayed, and the Bible given by Golden Hair had not

been opened this many a day. Since his dark sin toward Adah he had felt

unworthy to touch it, but now that he was doing what he could to atone,

he surely might look at it, and unlocking the trunk where it was hidden,

he took it from its concealment and opened it reverently, half wondering

what he should read first, and if it would have any reference to his

present position.

"Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of these ye did it unto Me."

That was what Hugh read in the dim twilight, that the passage on which

the lock of hair lay, and the Bible dropped from his hands as he

whispered: "Golden Hair, are you here? Did you point that out to me? Does it mean

Adah? Is the God you loved on earth pleased that I should care for her?"

To these queries, there came no answer, save the mournful wailing of the

night wind roaring down the chimney and past the sleet-covered window,

but Hugh was a happier man for reading that, and had there before

existed a doubt as to his duty toward Adah, this would have swept it

away.